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Editor’s note: After analyzing and
jurying other artists’ work for much of his career (including here in
the pages of Letters), we convinced Lee to tell us about his own work
these days. Like the critic he is, he made certain to include an
objective look at one of his own pieces, critiqued by an artist friend.
The resulting column is an inside look at this artist as he creates his
collage art. Thanks, Lee!
My own exhibition—Putting It
Together—hangs in the Blue Moon Restaurant through October 31. The
title of the show reflects my continuing interest in the process that
produces these pieces and my specific focus on the collage technique as
a way to recycle my own marks and materials—gestures and strokes of
paint, ink and resist; cut and torn pieces of paper; strips of cloth;
and interwoven shapes—all of which are pulled from earlier pieces I
created.
Sometimes, as in Day’s End, a much
earlier work (1988) catches my attention in its entirety making me want
to do something else with it. So I draw on it a bit more to intensify
the pastel areas. In direct response to that, I think I need stronger
shapes in silhouette and so make another pass over the surface with
darker ink.
Very much seduced presently with the use
of gold leaf, I collage a few discreet bits onto the surface and arrive
at a point which seems “finished.” The fact is, I have been known to
take works out of their frames and start the whole process over again.
Likewise, what may have seemed a very
satisfying work of art has often been dismantled “for
parts”—because another work in progress was begging for this shape
or that texture or gesture... Having been sold, I guess Day’s End is
finally safe from my meddlesome activity.
Not so for the others! I will be always
“putting it together.”
A three part series in the show is titled
Phoenix and it does rise from its own ashes. A big bold mark was excised
several years ago for use on another work leaving me with this very
curious and interesting but otherwise eviscerated piece of paper. The
gestures on the surface suggested to me a directional and intensifying
kind of rhythm.
I tore the paper in three pieces
isolating individual gestures and then I took more of the original and
superimposed it onto the surface as collage elements—but stealthy
ones—because they behave like camouflage. Even when you see them they
are not there, sort of. Blocks of blackened paper were torn into
geometric shapes and collaged onto the surface. They lent gravity and a
sonic quality to all the dancing parts.
Finally, the gold leaf bits (it’s just
a phase I’m in)—incrementally and directionally placed on all three
pieces—brought an end to this particular process. Phoenix-like these
three works rose from their own ashes. Individually they work very well
but I think collectively that they work even better. I can never be sure
though.
I doubt that I could do a very
comprehensive critique of my own show since I am much too close to the
work and, having produced it, see something about every stage of its
development including any images now framed in the show.
A thoughtful friend critiqued her
favorite piece in the show—Henlopen Moon. She was very sensitive to
it, but ultimately found it lacking because of my literal inclusion
of—you guessed it—a white gold leaf moon collaged onto its surface.
For her, its hard-edged “obvious-ness” negated the nuance and subtle
layering of collage she found throughout the work. She made a convincing
argument. I know I glued that moon there in response to a problem I
caused myself. But now I’m wondering...which is why, forever and
always, I will be putting it together.
Lee
Mills, a Rehoboth artist who has exhibited in both local and regional
galleries, is currently Gallery Associate at the Rehoboth Art League.
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